Peter's Mind
by Humphrey's Beloved
Summary: This story is about before Ender, when Peter still had the monitor in him. It's about what they found in Peter's mind, and why he was rejected by the program...
1. Chapter 1

"**He's a good possibility. All our reports say he fits into the category perfectly. He may be the one."**

"**Don't get your hopes up. We've had ones like him before, and they've often turned out wrong. This is a delicate situation and I'm trusting you to not screw it up."**

"**The great Professor, trusting another human being, and he chooses me? Why Anderson, I'm touched."**

"**Sarcasm will not get you a raise."**

"**And here I thought you liked your employees ironic and cynical. Just like you, I mean. Hey, settle down, no need to get prickly."**

"**If you mess this like you did with the O'Hara kid, you'll regret it for a long time. If you handle this well, however, I might recommend you to the Tactical Center. A little incentive."**

"**I have been wanting to get a CharlDock car-"**

"**Don't push it."**

Peter stared at the nurse calmly. He liked unnerving people. Once, he'd heard his father's friend talking about him. How unsettling it was to have a child, infant, really, stare at you with that look, as if he could see you, know you, and judge you. Peter found that it made the other person off balance, nervous, which gave him an edge. When you're only four you need every edge you can get to stay in the game.

"Petey-wetey," the nurse began, "the doctor will come in a minute. He's going to check you all over, from your little head to your little feet. Won't that be fun?"

Peter very nearly gagged. _Yuck. I think I'm going to puke. I mean, Petey-wetey? Ugh. _He decided to have some fun. He stared at the nurse for a moment longer, and then his big blue eyes narrowed.

"No. I do not think it will be fun. If you think it will be fun, go do it yourself. _I _like my privacy, thank you very much." He paused for effect, relishing the look on her face. "Now, _Janey-waney_, go get the doctor." Perfect! Her expression was priceless. He only wished he didn't still have that babyish lisp. It was embarrassing! Peter hated anything babyish; 'babyish' was not a word he wanted in connection with his name.

After she'd left, flustered and pink, he slowly reached a hand to the back of his neck, feeling for the small machine embedded there. The monitor. _Is that what the genius you need would do? Am I right for your program? _

Peter had always scorned those over-eager kids in the class, the ones who in answer to a question would stretch their arms up so far, wave them wildly about, and shout, "Ooh, pick me, pick me!" But that was how he felt. Desperate to gain attention, to be the right one, to be elevated above the others.

_Please, please, pick me. Pick me._


	2. Chapter 2

"**Joseph Lancaster?"**

"**That's me. Who's you?"**

"**Ross Merphy, sir. You're here for the Wiggin kid, aren't you?"**

"**Yes. Peter Wiggin, 4 years old, son of John and Theresa Wiggin, brother of Valentine Wiggin, one of the smartest children in the country. I'm taking over for James Trombley. What happened to him, anyways? Anderson never told me."**

"**He died, sir."**

"**I'm just entering a world of rainbows and sugar, aren't I? What, killed off because he knew too much?"**

"**Sir, I believe he was in a car accident."**

"**Ah, the oldest cover-up in the book. Well, no use dwelling on the past. What have you got for me?"**

"**Here's his connection, sir."**

"**Anderson told me that Trombley was good at writing regular reports on the kid. Do you have those around anywhere?"**

"**In that cabinet, sir. He, ah, wrote a lot of them, so it might take you a while to get through them all."**

"**Jesus Christ! This thing is half a foot thick; I'll never read it all! Here, kid, what do you know about this Peter? Might as well get the short version first."**

"**Most of the Monitor Personnel talk about their assignments in the lounge room. Trombley used to boast, sir, about Peter. Saying that he would be the one that would save us all. Trombley was a bit of a, ah-"**

"**Snot?"**

"**I wouldn't really know, sir. I'm just an assistant. I hear lots of things, but I don't really know the people."**

"**People generally don't notice an assistant much, hmm? Must be an advantage sometimes. Merphy, you must have heard more things about Peter. Did Trombley talk about anything wrong with him that would prevent him from being accepted?"**

"**Not really, sir, though sometimes he said the kid could be a little violent. It was why the parents were asked to have a girl after Peter. Just to be safe, in case the boy didn't pan out."**

"**Thank you Merphy, you've been a great help. I think I'll skim over these reports for a minute before I hook up to this kid's brain."**

"**Very well, sir."**

Subject: Peter Wiggin

Subject Profile-

Age 1

Birthday- March 3, 2057

I.Q. - 185

First Child of John and Theresa Wiggin

Subject's Family-

Father: John Paul Wiggin changed from John Paul Wieczorek. Catholic. Came from a noncompliant family of 11. High I.Q.

Mother: Theresa Young Wiggin. Mormon. From a noncompliant family of nine. High I.Q.

Parents have kept no contact with other family members. Evidence suggests that they are ashamed of the fact that their families are noncompliant.

Date: May 5, 2058

The subject Peter Wiggin P was outfitted with a monitor today. He feels excited, and smug. He is desperate to prove himself. Smug satisfaction is felt towards a classmate, Theodore Prentiss TP, who has not been given a monitor. P feels that they are competitors. Note: Subject Peter competes, feels the need to excel and win. P is bored. Doesn't feel challenged. He misses parents, but tries to conceal it. Feels that emotions are weaknesses. P is-

"**He may have been regular about his reports, but they are wicked boring. Come on, what else you got…"**

Date: February 10, 2059

TP called P a bugger-loving turd, and P felt angry. P attacked TP, fought him. P pleased at winning, proud. Note: not afraid to stick up for self, even do violence. TP left with a broken wrist, bloody nose, and numerous bruises. TP is a good judging scale of P's character against foes. P is very independent, not many friends. Good at knowing what to do. Discover what people he is compatible with-

Date: June 8, 2059

TW and JW told Peter that he was going to have a sister today. P pretended to be happy, but was furious inside. P doesn't want to have attention taken away from him. Note: a little too self-centered? Recording of Monitor connection in is Cabinet E, Drawer 4, labeled Baby Sister News. Later that day, P shamed his teacher. He-

"**Okay, let's check this out…Cabinet E…Drawer 4...Baby Sister News…here we go…"**

"_Monitor Connection Recording: Peter Wiggin. June 8th, 2059. Searching…connection complete. Recording on."_

'_Mom looks happy…what's going on? Dad's got his big-news look on…I hope it really is good. _Pause _A sister? I'm going to have a sister? How could they! I can't believe they would do this to me…why do they need someone else, they have me! I'm perfect! Calm, calm. Can't let them know. Smile, that's right. Exclaim. You're happy. Don't let them know. Hide it, you know how. That look, the one that has just enough mild depth to fool anyone. I hate them. Hate them, because they must hate me to do this to me. _Pause _Valentine? Of all the stupid names…I hate her, hate them. It's all ruined! Arghh!'_


	3. Chapter 3

Joseph Lancaster almost staggered, and ripped off the recording device. On his temple, where he had linked it to himself, a small bead of blood grew. He was breathing hard. _The kid's two! 2 years old, how can you hate that much? Feel so intensely… _He stood abruptly, strode out of the cubicle. As he passed another cubicle like the one he'd been in, he glanced into the open door. He stopped when he saw that the Ross kid was in there with another monitor operative.

"Merphy! Come here, I need you," he said. Rude, perhaps, but effective.

"Sir?" he asked, obeying the older man.

"Did Trombley ever let anyone else connect to the monitor recordings? Think, kid, this is important."

Merphy looked confused. "I-I don't know, sir, I don't think so. Would you like me to check?"

"No…that's all right," Lancaster muttered. "Hmm. Where's the head honcho's office?"

Cowed by his sharp manner, Merphy pointed meekly down the hall. "Go up three flights of the escalator that is at the end of this hall. It's the office at the end, the one with the image of an eye in the door. But sir-"

He spoke to thin air; Lancaster was already gone.

   

"**Hello? Are you in charge here?"**

"**How dare you barge right in like this! I am conducting an important, classified meeting, which you are not privy to. Leave at once!"**

"**So sorry, but it's important. It's about-"**

"**I don't care how important it is, that is no excuse-"**

"**-the Wiggin kid. There's a problem."**

"**Oh."**

Pause

"**I'm so sorry, Mr. Viore, Admiral Chamrajngar, General Pace, Major Graff, Major Drake. We must continue this another time. Something…vital has come up."**

"**Rotesan, this is unac-"**

"**Please, Admiral, please calm down. I apologize profoundly…good-bye…I'll call you all to personally reschedule."**

"**General Rotesan? I apologize, but it is important."**

"**It bugger well better be, because I just kicked some high-ranking members of government and the I.F. out of an important meeting. Quickly, man, before I truly lose my patience."**

"**General, I just linked to a recording of Peter Wiggin's monitor, from the day he heard of his sister's existence. He rated off the scale in anger, jealously, resentment…"**

"**Your point, Mr., uh-"**

"**First Lieutenant Joseph Lancaster. My point is that this kid is not what you're looking for. He is violent, easily needled, quick to anger, resents anyone even slightly better than him, and is power-hungry. You can't put that kind of a kid, much less a man, in command of fleet! He's not the right kind of leader!"**

"**Lieutenant Lancaster, how long were you linked to this recording?"**

"**I don't know, maybe two minutes? But-"**

"**And all of a sudden you're an expert on the kid? All of a sudden, you know a major flaw in two minutes that Trombley never saw in three years? I don't think so, _Lieutenant_. We need a child not afraid to be a little violent. Someone competitive, someone eager to lead. Those are qualities that Peter Wiggin has, and Trombley saw that in him. Don't try to screw with this just because of something you _imagine _you know, just because you want a little recognition or fame around here. Don't ruin humankind's chance at survival because you want to climb the administrative ladder. Now get out, before I fire you. Incompetent, self-centered fool…"**

"**General, please-"**

"**OUT!"**

Joseph Lancaster stormed out of the room, blue eyes flashing, jaw clenched as tight as his fists.

"Proof," he muttered angrily. "I need _proof_."

Slowing his walk, and forcing his heart to accommodate, Lancaster strode back to his cubicle. Merphy was nowhere to be seen, but the Lieutenant didn't blame him. _I feel like leaving, myself… _Once again surrounded by the claustrophobically close walls of his new workspace, he picked up the monitoring device on the desk in front of him. Lancaster attached the suction-cuplike link to his temple, wincing as the tiny needle pierced his skin. The body of the machine, sitting on the desk, whirred softly as he turned it on. He typed in Peter's code, and then waited while the monitor terminal searched for its matching component embedded in the boy's neck. Three quick clicks issuing from the sleek instrument told him it was done. Before opening the switch that would flood his mind with Peter's he picked up a recorder and connected it to the monitor terminal, turning it on. Then he flipped the switch.

"_Monitor Connection Recording: Peter Wiggin. May 8th, 2061. Searching…connection complete. Monitor connection on."_

The screen in front of him came to life, and the blurred shapes of blues and whites focused into a bedroom. A child's bedroom, though it wasn't obvious. A bookshelf extended all the way across one wall, and a small desk sat on a table next to the bed. The room was neat and bare of childish playthings like blocks, toy cars, coloring screens, stuffed animals, and soft blankets. On another wall were pictures of famous leaders; Napoleon, Alexander the Great, Charles the Great, Julius Caesar, Erwin Rommel, George Patton, George Washington, Saladin, Hitler, and, of course, Peter the Great. The image blacked for a fraction of a moment, as Peter blinked, yawned, then began to wake up.

'_I don't want to go to school today…it's all so boring. But there's that new kid, the one who was mean to me, Oliver. I can't let him get away with that, it'll make me seem weak. I'm going to hurt him, find his weakness and twist it so he's mine, to do with what I will. Should I use him, or throw him away? Depends on which he fears most- being an outcast, or being humiliated at my feet. As for my parents…they'll have to wait. I have no power over them at the moment.'_

Lancaster, sitting with his eyes closed, frowned at the anger that seethed in young Peter as he thought of his lack of control over these people running his life, and the pleasure at the thought of bringing down Oliver. More and more, the man began to believe that Peter's mind was not the one they wanted to place their hopes on…


	4. Chapter 4

"**How's the Wiggin project going?"**

"**Well. Except for this psychopath that Anderson put in charge of monitoring the kid. If I had the time, I'd get him off it, but no one else is qualified. He thinks the boy isn't good enough. If he isn't good enough, then I don't know who is."**

"**What about the sister?"**

"**Valentine? She's only two; we've had her in our program for just about a year. From what we've seen, very different from the brother. Kinder, sweeter, more malleable. She doesn't appear to have the 'killer instinct', but it's still early. Why? You don't agree with the man, do you?"**

"**Rotesan, we have to consider all possibilities, be prepared for the worst. Who else is on the list for saving the world?"**

"**The two we had before didn't pan out, and a potential we had our eyes on broke down. We had to send him home. Pace, we can accept a kid with a tendency toward violence; it's the ones that are weak that can't spare a glance for. Come on, let's take him!"**

"**Easy. No, not yet. We wait. We watch. And if this 'psychopath' has a history of being right, be even more cautious. This is not the time for mistakes."**

"**Ever wish you were one of the ignorant population of a remote country that didn't even know there was a war going on?"**

"**All the time. Supervising the training of kids to be saviors of the world is very stressful."**

Oliver was a big boy for four. He wasn't that violent, though, just surly. He didn't like his new home, and announced it loudly and often. When he had finally decided the moment, Peter rallied his troops around him for attack: his cronies Brendan, Sebastian, Tina, and Charlie. After Oliver made a particularly rude comment about the school and its occupants while the teacher was out, Peter strode over to him. At least, strode as well as a 4-year-old can stride.

"Oliver," he announced. "I don't like your attitude."

"At-dude what?"

Peter rolled his eyes at his friends, as if to say, he's so _dumb_, he doesn't even know how to _pronounce _it. More classmates began to gather around, sensing the animosity.

"You're stuck-up," Peter clarified.

"Hey!" Oliver retaliated, pouting. Peter suddenly changed tactics, appealing to his audience for help.

"Did you all notice how Dandy was scared this morning?" The little children nodded eagerly, happy to participate. "I think it was because of him!"

They were only too eager to supply the reasoning behind this. "Yesterday, I saw him poke his cage, and I think he was saying bad things to Dandy!" shouted Sasha triumphantly.

"He doesn't belong here," Peter spoke to the crowd. "He thinks he's better than us! Remember how he refused to do the math on the board this morning?"

The kids all clamored agreement.

"We have to show him he's worse than us," Peter went on. "No one can be friends with Oliver anymore, because he was so mean to Dandy. If he's mean to Dandy, he'll be mean to us."

"I saw him push Cara yesterday!"

"He was so stuck-up; he wouldn't sit next to anyone at lunch!"

"Bugger-lover!"

"Yeah!"

Peter smirked at Oliver, who burst into tears, and ran to hide under one of the tables. _Yes! He'll never be mean to me again,_ he gloated.


	5. Chapter 5

Once he was home from school, Valentine immediately rushed over, holding out a paint-splattered paper and looking immensely pleased with herself.

"Peter! Peter, wook!" Valentine had a babyish lisp; it was one of her weak points, and Peter knew. He teased her mercilessly.

"I don't care about your stupid picture, Val. Go away."

His sister halted, looking disappointed. "But, Peter-"

Peter could tell she idolized him, and normally he would use that in a person, but he hated his sister, for her sweetness, for the attention she took, for her nauseating dimples and sickening giggles. Everyone always called her an angel, and when they found out how precocious she was, fell to pieces cooing and admiring. She, of course, preened under the attention. Peter hated that smug look on her face; it made him want to punch her.

"Peter, I drew-"

"I. Don't. Care. Leave me alone!" He stomped up to his room. Val always put him in a bad mood. As he left, he heard a soft voice.

"But I drew you, Peter."

He shook of the corner of him that felt guilty. She was a pain, he reminded himself. Peter hoped that this jumble of mixed emotions was only a little kid, because it was making him confused. _This is why making connections to the people around you is bad. They mess you up, hold you back. If I felt sorry for Val, then I wouldn't be plotting how to use her to convince Mom and Dad to get me student's access to the nets, _he thought. His parents thought that four was too young for student's access; he was restricted, for the moment, to child's access, which was excessively limited for his ambitions. The only reason he hadn't bypassed this was that he had so little time on his desk that he hadn't been able to explore it. His teacher believed in 'real-world interactions', which was, as far as Peter was concerned, complete bugger sod. The net was where real power could be acquired, regardless of age. Therefore, that was where the driven boy set his sights.

'_Val will be my ticket. I'm just not sure if I should get her to ask for me, or make a bargain with my parents about her. They might be suspicious about the former, but they might not agree to the latter…better chance the suspicions. I don't think they'll be smart enough to know I'm using her anyways, if I plan this right. How can I get Valentine to ask? Bribe? Blackmail? Sweet-talk? I'm leaning toward bribe, and blackmail if she refuses. I just have to remember not to do anything too bad, because of the monitor. Maybe Val will be actually useful for once! When I first get on the nets, I have to study how others write, what kind of writing affects the world…'_

Valentine looked up warily as Peter approached. She did idolize him, but she still knew of his dangers. And when he wore that too sweet, happy-intense smiling look on his face, he was dangerous. As he wore now.

"Hello, sister dear."

"What do you want?"

He refused to drop the façade. "Nothing, really, just came to see how you're doing. Sorry about earlier, I was in a bad mood." She waited, staring at him. "And I was wondering if you would like me to help you get rid of your lisp."

"Really?" She sensed a suspicious motive, but decided to trust him for now.

"Yep. But I need something from you."

"Is it bad?" Valentine knew Peter was not the angel he pretended to be.

"No, I just need you to get a student's access to the nets for me. Mom and Dad are just a little reluctant, and I want you to convince them for me." He smiled, and winked. "Come on, sis. Do me a favor."

Valentine was about to say yes, what's the harm, when she remembered earlier. The painting, and Peter's superior, annoyed look on his face as he pushed past her. He ignored her, just brushed her off. She didn't want to make it easy for him.

"I don't know," she stalled, "Mommy and Daddy might not want me to. You can't make me."

Without warning, Peter changed from sweet, companionable, to angry and towering. His face twisted in resentment, fury. "You will do as I say! I _can _make you, I can! You-you always ruin it for me, you owe me this!"

Frightened, Valentine drew back away from his outburst. Emboldened by her alarm, Peter drew close, allowing no escape. "If you don't, than I'll- I'll-" Peter thought, searching his brain for the proper threat. Finally, he hit upon it. The thing all mortals are afraid of. "I'll kill you." Valentine relaxed slightly.

"You wouldn't, you're bwuffing" she decided, more relieved. Peter could feel his control of the situation slipping away. Frantic, he knew he had to do something drastic, quick. In a swift motion, he pushed her over, then placed one knee on her back, pinning her there. He caught her arms and pulled back, enough to make her cry out in pain.

"Thtop it, Peter, Thtop it!"

"No one can hear you," he whispered in her ear. He discovered with detached surprise that he liked this power. He liked knowing she feared him. He thrust down harder, pushing on her windpipe, constricting her breathing. _This is good. This is power. Fear is a tool, and I will use it. I must never let myself get into a situation where I fear; I must make others fear me. _"Well? I'm waiting. Will you get that nets access for me or not?"

"Yes! Just stop, please, it hurts!" _Well, I guess I rid her of her lisp. _Peter loosened his grip slowly, but didn't let go.

"Don't you dare tell your precious Mommy or Daddy about this, or you'll regret it. I can make it hurt a lot worse," he threatened. She nodded, trembling, and Peter let her go. She sat up, rubbing her shoulders, tears in her eyes, her lip trembling.

"I hate you, Peter," she whispered, and then ran off. Peter smiled triumphantly, but didn't understand why he felt like crying.

"**Merphy? I need a favor."**

"**Nothing illegal, sir, it's against my contract."**

"**Funny. I need you to put these monitor recordings on General Rotesan's desk in his office. With an urgent tag."**

"**You know where it is-"**

"**Yeah, well…the General and I didn't exactly hit it off. I have a feeling he won't listen to me. And this is important."**

"**May I ask, sir, what it is?"**

"**I don't see why not. It's about Peter Wiggin. Why I think he's not a possible candidate for the battle school. No, not just why I _think_, it's why he _isn't_."**

"**How do you figure that, sir?**

"**These recordings are from the last few days; Peter shows extreme signs of a power-hungry sadist who'll do anything for power. He has charisma, but not true leadership ability. Strategy, but not that borderline-crazy inventiveness we need. He just isn't right for the job."**

"**Too bad. He's been our best hope in a while, and I've heard the sister hasn't got the killer instinct we need. We were sure he'd be perfect."**

"**Well, as it happens, I just may have a solution for that…"**


	6. Chapter 6

Theresa Wiggin watched fondly as her daughter played outside in their yard. _There should be more moments like this_, she thought. Guiltily, she was glad Peter wasn't around. His violent tendencies were…frightening, sometimes. Her husband slipped his arms around her waist, and she relaxed back.

"We should have another child," she said suddenly. John Paul looked down, startled.

"Now?" he questioned. "We can't. Wait until the monitors are gone."

"But then it might be too late. One of them might be gone, and our child would never know its sister or brother." Her voice was desperate, pleading. John Paul knew how much she wanted another child, how much they both did.

"I know sweetie, I know," he soothed in response to her desperation. "We were planning anyways," he conceded, albeit reluctantly.

"Let's live on the edge a little," Theresa said, eyes sparkling in excited imagining. "It's really the only way to Live."

"Ah, Living," he murmured, smiling.

"Don't mock me, I meant it!" she protested, trying to sound scolding. There was silence for a moment as they watched Valentine. John Paul tried to think of reasons not to have another child, make another little life to guide and help and care and love, but every argument seemed to lack conviction, evidence, really good enough reason.

"All right," he said suddenly. "Let's have another child."

"Yes!" Theresa exclaimed, then turned and kissed him. He smiled down at her.

"Let's Live."

"**Anderson, we're cutting the Wiggin boy out of our program."**

"**What? Why? I thought-"**

"**We all thought. We were wrong. Your man, Lancaster, showed us that. I watched some of the vids… the boy is scary. So young, yet so violent and uncontrollable. And he had so much potential."**

"**Are you going to keep Lancaster in Monitoring?"**

"**No, I'm bringing a new guy in. Got any suggestions? A good man, mind; Lancaster's just a little too…rogue, for me. I'll just give him a raise, a pat on the back, and then kick him out with recommendations for Tactical Center. He wouldn't dare complain."**

"**What about Major Hyrum Graff? He's being promoted to Colonel soon, and he knows what we look for in the kids. Good man, if a bit unconventional at times. What will he be doing?"**

"**Lancaster had an idea about the Wiggin dilemma. Since Peter's too violent, and Valentine's too meek, compromise. Take Peter out of the program, then commission the parents to have another child. A boy, to be a mix of Peter and Valentine. More compassionate than Peter, but with the instinct Valentine lacks."**

"**So the Lieutenant is good for something. But a Third? The poor kid."**

"**Government approved it's sanctioned, and the parents actually _want_ more kids; they can't refuse in any case, not with a government commission. Best solution I've heard yet, anyway. Graff will monitor the boy until we're sure he's the one we want."**

"**All right, Rotesan. We'll do it. We'll send out the commission for another child from Theresa and John Paul Wiggin. A boy. A third."**

"**And we'll hope to God he's the one."**


	7. Chapter 7

"Peter, dear, I suppose by now you're sick of that horrid monitor. Well, good news. The monitor is coming out today! We're just gonna take it right out, and it won't hurt a bit."

It sounded rehearsed. But Peter wasn't paying much attention to the nurse. He couldn't think of anything except how cruel this was, how _wrong_. How could they terminate him as a project? He was needed up there, he was- he was the _one_. Peter was doing all he could to keep his anger inside of him, growing larger as the moment approached for the monitor to be removed. Peter kept hoping they'd realize their mistake, come and take him back. _You can't kick me out! I'm the one you need; I can defeat the buggers! I can be the savior! Only me! Not my stupid brother… _Peter hated him all ready, the little bastard, the little bugger-lover, growing in Mommy's womb. They'd already named him. Andrew. _You can't replace me, you'll come back, you'll realize your mistake, and you'll see that Andrew is just a shadow of me. Come back! _It was all he'd dreamed of, going up to train in the famous battle school. Astounding the other boys and teachers with his brilliant intellect. And now…shattered. His dream was shattered, and it was all because of Andrew! So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he didn't even realize it as the doctor came in, started talking, saying something about the monitor being gone. He felt another wave of anger and despair, and sunk deeper into himself. Suddenly, as if his brain was jolted, there was intense pain, and the doctor was twisting something at the back of his neck. Peter felt terrified as his body began to jerk and seize, out of his control. He barely felt the needle go in. His last thought before he sunk into oblivion was a mental scream of anguish. _I HATE YOU ALL!_

Hyrum Graff was sitting the cubicle, linked to the monitor terminal, waiting. Waiting for his assignment to begin, to analyze a small, precocious child, to see if he would be the one that they would mold and train and break and teach, so that he could save the world.

"_Monitor Connection Recording: Andrew Wiggin. February 12th, 2063. Searching…connection complete. Monitor connection on."_

'_My name is Andrew, Monitor. But everyone calls me Ender…'_


End file.
